


Belonging

by jayyxx



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 17:20:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17585060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jayyxx/pseuds/jayyxx
Summary: Credence shifts, lies flat on his back. “Are all your creatures... actuallyyours?”Mr. Scamander turns in his chair. He gives a curt nod, then makes a face like the question as stumped him, opens his mouth to speak, then snaps it shut. “I like to think they are,” he finally settles on.Credence is silent for a moment, then shifts up the lean on his elbow. “And me?”There’s a quiet pause in the room. Where Mr. Scamander tips his head and looks at him. “You?”“Am I yours?”Mr. Scamander watches him for a moment. He’s frozen. So still Credence is afraid he may have broken him.





	Belonging

**Author's Note:**

> lol this follows that au that everyone does where cre lives in the suitcase and is newt's apprentice

Mr. Scamander often trails mid-sentence, even during the most important of conversations. His thoughts tends to wander, and sometimes he will just turn his head slightly, eyes dropping, hands twirling. Credence waits patiently until he returns to his mind. 

This time, though, Mr. Scamander looks straight up at him, his eyes questioning, as though _Credence_ has been the one to stop mid-sentence. 

“Did you hear that?” He asks, his ears fine-tuned to the noises of his collection.

Credence tips his head. 

A second passes. 

Mr. Scamander shoots up. Credence makes no move. “You didn’t hear that?” He asks again, eyebrows pinched. 

“No, sir.” Credence replies, gently reaching over to move the ink pen away from Mr. Scamander’s notebook, lest it leave spots. 

And then Mr. Scamander runs off, out of his hut and into the wild of his menagerie. 

Credence skitters on behind him. 

He finds him kneeling in a bush, the twigs sticking through his hair and catching on his clothing. His hands are deep within it, and he’s cooing softly. Credence can barely hear, yet he listens closely. 

“Oh, my baby,” he whispers to his hands, “it’s alright, Mummy’s here. I’m here, I’ve got you.”

“Sir?” Credence asks over his shoulder. 

Mr. Scamander shifts back on his heels, and what is relieved is a tiny black creature in the cup of his hands. It looks similar to a deer, with small golden horns on the crown of his head. 

Credence has only ever seen a deer dead in the ditch. 

Mr. Scamander holds the creature with such softness and care, like he does all of his beasts. He brings it up to his chest and rocks slowly with it there. “That’s it, you’re alright. Oh, my sweet boy, there-there.”

Something warm stirs within Credence at the words, even if they’re not pointed at him. They are warm and comforting all the same. 

“Silly baby,” Mr. Scamander remarks turning to show Credence the creature. “Must have seen a berry and got tangled in the roots.” 

Credence sinks to his knees in front of him. The creature is clearly a juvenile, it’s tiny head and long, shaky legs pillows on Mr. Scamander’s chest. 

“He’s a Cerynitis. Very widely hunted for his beautiful golden horns.” He runs a hand down its black fur. “He will grow very large, similar in size to an Arion.” 

Credence gives him a questioning look. Sometimes his teacher forgets he doesn’t know all there is to know about mythical beasts. 

“An Arion is like a horse. I don’t have one yet, but I do hope to study one.” Mr. Scamander hopes to study everything. “He was given to me by a close friend. His mother had been killed for her horns. The females grow much more extravagant horns than males.” 

Credence nods. 

“He will live here until he is old enough to mate. But for now, he is my baby.” Mr. Scamander raises while unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt. He slips the deer under the fabric, against his warm skin, and holds him close. Credence warms. He has never been so _very_ jealous of a creature. 

Mr. Scamander chuckles. He looks down at the baby, tucked against his chest. “Isn’t he just darling?” 

Credence looks to the floor instead of looking at the other man's chest. He nods. 

He follows him all the way back to base with a flush on his neck. 

 

Later, Credence lies in Mr. Scamander’s bed, as he always does, and watches as the other man scribbles away on a piece of parchment, doodling and note-taking, and what-have-you. 

“Mr. Scamander?” He calls, softly. Sometimes, the man can’t be drawn away from his work, no matter how hard Credence tries. 

“Yes, Mr. Barebone?” He has given up on asking Credence to call him “Newt,” therefore, “Mr. Barebone” is a running joke. 

Credence shifts, lies flat on his back. “Are all your creatures... actually _yours?”_

Mr. Scamander turns in his chair. He gives a curt nod, then makes a face like the question as stumped him, opens his mouth to speak, then snaps it shut. “I like to think they are,” he finally settles on. 

“How do they become yours?” Credence looks down to the small black deer, resting by Mr. Scamander’s feet. 

He has an answer for that one. “I rescue them. For whatever reason they need to be rescued, I want to help.” He turns back around, no longer facing Credence. “I want them to feel safe with me.”

Credence nods. He does feel safe. 

“And, for some of them, this is their home now. Forever. Especially the colonies.” Mr. Scamander adds. 

“Like the Mooncalves.”

“Yes.”

“And the Bowtruckles.”

“That’s right.”

Credence is silent for a moment, then shifts up the lean on his elbow. “And me?”

There’s a quiet pause in the room. Where Mr. Scamander tips his head and looks at him. “You?” 

“Am I yours?” 

Mr. Scamander watches him for a moment. He’s frozen. So still Credence is afraid he may have broken him. Then, the man lets out a gentle breath, his shoulders sinking, head nodding, “Most certainly.” 

Credence doesn’t respond. He nearly holds his breath. 

“For as long as you’d like to be,” Mr. Scamander adds. 

Maybe soon, Mr. Scamander will push a hand through his hair and call him something sweet like he does to his other creatures. Tell him how good he is, how beautiful... Credence blushes something fierce at the thought. 

But for now, this _belonging..._ It’s a start.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading and tipping ur author w kudos and comments. love u guys 
> 
> visit me @ [ghostcas](http://www.ghostycas.tumblr.com) on tumblr


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